


Mein Teil

by Nellblazer



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Bondage, Cooking, Cooking Lessons, Craigslist, Dark Steve, Dark Steve Rogers, F/M, Grooming, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suspension, Vampire Bites, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23564110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellblazer/pseuds/Nellblazer
Summary: Coming across an ad for free cookery lessons, you really should've thought it was too good to be true.*Please do not replicate my work anywhere without my expression permission. I post on Tumblr and Wattpad too*
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 198





	Mein Teil

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by the song 'Mein Teil' by Rammstein
> 
> Warnings: Non-con, grooming, mentions of blood
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> \- NB

__

_Seeking:_

_Male cooking tutor seeking students for European cuisine lessons._

_Italian, Iberian, Grecian, Bavarian and more._

_No fee, bring your own ingredients._

_I'm an ex-Michelin starred chef looking to fill my days of retirement._

_Vetted and checked. Paperwork upon request._

That was the advert you came across when you were browsing Craigslist.

You were looking to switch up your career, tired of an office, tired of brown nosing for promotions. You just wanted to make something, to do something manual, be proud of something.

You hovered over the message button before asking to see his credentials. It sounded too good to be true and you wanted to be sure this wasn't going to end with you being trafficked or something.

About half an hour later you got a prompt response with a bunch of paperwork and also a photo of the tutor. Your jaw just about dropped.

He was gorgeous with piercing blue eyes, dirty blond hair and a neat beard....and the biggest biceps you'd ever seen. How was this man a chef?! And yet, you'd read his resumé so you knew he wasn't lying.

Telling yourself that he was probably married anyway so to keep it in your pants, you sent him a message back saying you'd love to take him up on his offer. Within mere minutes, you got a response with a location, date and time for your first lesson, as well as a recipe card.

Pulling up at his upmarket house on the darkening street, you felt vastly underdressed in your jeans and t-shirt but you hauled your little wicker basket of ingredients out of the car and pressed his doorbell. Shuffling nervously, you straighten your clothing up a bit trying to be more presentable.

“Oh hey there,” he's at the door, charming grin to hand and you just about melted. “You're nice and early, I like that. Come on in, I'm Steve.”

You shake his hand and walk in, marvelling at how retro the interior is until you hit the kitchen and gasp audibly. It was _huge_. You could've moved in just into this room and had space to spare with your shitty apartment.

“It's my pride and joy,” he smiles. “Think you can work in here? We can always work in your own kitchen if it's what you're used to.”

“I think I'll be dancing with all the room I'll have here,” you joke. “This is amazing! I mean, you can use my kitchen if you want but I think you'd have to duck. My ceilings aren't very high.”

“Well why don't we set up and I can walk you through some things, huh? Cute basket by the way,” he takes it from you and sets it on the unit. “So I wanted to start off with something that's not too simple but doesn't make you run screaming. Boeuf bourguignon. Very rewarding to make. Have you ever cooked before?”

“Only simple things,” you admit.

Whilst he's placing the ingredients out, you get the feeling he's studying you. You in turn, slyly look to see that he has no wedding ring.

“So why respond?” he puts an apron on and hands one to you. “I'm curious.”

“I just want a different direction for my life. I'm tired of staring at a computer screen.”

“I can understand that. Not trying to learn for someone special?”

“Oh no, it's just me,” you say entirely too quickly then cough awkwardly. “Honestly I just want to be good at something that doesn't involve sitting on my ass for hours on end.”

“Well you came to the right place,” he laughs. “So let's start.”

As you sauté beef, Steve is behind you, giving you pointers. You feel stupidly nervous with such a large bulk just inches from you but he's patient when you mess up and encouraging. You half expected to be shouted at until you improved but his teaching method was very gentle.

When you finally have everything simmering, he steps back getting you a glass of water.

“Thirsty work,” he hands it over. “I remember how hot the kitchens used to get in restaurants and I never stayed hydrated when I should've.”

“Thank you,” you drained it, still not quite relaxed around him.

“Are you finding this okay?” he asks, leaning against the fridge. “You seem...”

“I'm fine,” you interject. “I just need to remember I'm not trying to impress, I'm here to learn.”

“That's a great way of looking at it.”

“So do we just eat when this is done?” you stir the thickening broth.

“I show you how to plate it is what happens next.”

“Oh really?! Like completely fancy plating?”

“I wasn't head chef for nothing,” he laughs before touching your arm and you almost flinch at how cold his fingers are.

Presentation seemed to be an art form that Steve just did without thinking. His example plate was already decorated in artful swirls and garnishes whilst you tried to make yours look less like a cat had vomited on it. He took your hand to guide where your spoon drifted.

“Could you just put your hand on my forehead? It's so nice and cool,” you joke.

Steve smiles, “Sorry, bad circulation. Years of standing up and hunching over.”

“Got it, so don't spend years as a chef,” you nod.

“You're funny,” he takes the plates and sets them on the table in the adjoining room. “Come on, taste what you've made. Would you like some wine?”

“Uh sure, just one glass though. I'm driving.”

“Sit down, I'll be back.”

You sit, smelling the juicy meat and the edge of alcohol wafting up before Steve comes back and presents you with a glass of deep red wine. You note his glass holds something thicker looking.

“I can't eat what you made I'm afraid. Strict diet. All that salt did my heart no good so I'm on these....protein shakes. I just like to pretend it's wine,” he wrinkles his nose.

“I'm sorry, I'm not going to be a temptation eating this, am I?”

“No, of course not. It's always imperative for the creator to taste his own creation. Go ahead.”

You try the food and are surprised at yourself that it tastes really good. Steve is watching your expression proudly.

“I think you did very well for your first time. You'll be a natural.”

“You think so?” you beam at him.

“I do,” he raises his glass to you. “What would you like to try next time? Something Iberian? Grecian?”

“Baltic?” you venture.

“Baltic it is. I'll prepare a lesson plan and give you a time and date again.”

You finish the meal with polite conversation. You find it very easy to talk to Steve. He's got a naturally calming air about him. The wine helps too.

Once you've finished, he assures you he'll clean up and says he'll send you a message for your next lesson. You leave feeling elated that it had gone so well.

As you put your hands in your jacket for your car keys, you did a slight double take that your small card purse that held your licence wasn't in your right hand pocket, it was in the left. Strange but...you must have done it by accident.

**

You woke up the next day with small puncture marks on the inside of your arm which itched like crazy.

Was it a mosquito? Fairly big mosquito if it was.

The window was open to let some air in so maybe you needed to invest in a net. You closed it before grabbing insect cream and rubbing it over yourself.

When you turned on your phone, you saw you had a message from Steve. He was asking if you were free tomorrow evening for a lesson. Apparently the next recipe he wanted to show you was piragi and also a dessert, honey cake.

Maybe you'd have to join a gym if you were expected to eat all this food alone.

When the next lesson rolled around, Steve was waiting with his sweater sleeves rolled up and your mind took a vacation as he was trying to show you how to make the dough from scratch and he playfully flicked flour at you to get you to concentrate.

Safe to say your piragi didn't look anywhere near as elegant as his.

“Is that meant to be a half moon shape?” he looks at the lumpy dumpling you've accidentally made.

“It's...it's modern art,” you look down, embarrassed.

“Here, give me your hands.”

His chest was pressed to your back, arms guiding yours as he looked over your shoulder to help your fingers be more nimble. You just hope he couldn't feel your heart thudding at a million miles an hour.

“There, see? It's all in the thumbs. Took me years to stop being so clumsy with it so you're doing great.”

“Thanks. I really hope I'm improving.”

“Definitely,” he smiles.

When both dishes are made, again you sit and taste your own creations whilst he lounges in the opposite chair with his protein goo in the wine glass. It could feel really awkward having him watch you eat but it never does.

“How are you finding the lessons?” he asks.

“I'm really enjoying them,” you say around a mouthful of honey cake, shielding your bulging cheeks. “As you can tell.”

“You're very sweet.”

It's not patronising like most men would say it. It's almost....fond?

“Well, I am what I eat,” you gesture to the cake.

“That you are,” he laughs. “So what should be our next lesson?”

“Iberian?”

“Good choice. Same deal as before, I'll send you the details.”

“Need any help cleaning?”

“I've got this,” he gets up and grabs some lurid pink marigold gloves. “See?”

Funny, gorgeous, a great cook....so what had to be wrong with him that he was single? Not that you should be lusting after your tutor but you really couldn't help it the more you got to know Steve.

The next morning there's more bite marks on your arms.

**

You'd never made so much in your life.

Steve had insisted on tapas, including albondigas, jamón croquetas and empanadillas Gallegas, and you were running around various parts of the kitchen to try and pull everything together at a similar time. This was definitely a huge jump in difficulty level but you had to suck it up if you might want to make a career out of this.

When you finally had several dishes plated, Steve took them to a different room of the house and you brought along the rest as you went down into the basement area which was just as lush as the rest of the place.

It had a table with candles already flickering and soft classical music was playing.

“This is different,” you put the food down.

“You've got to have some culture sometimes,” he gestures to the other seat. “Plus....I mean feel free to storm out of the door if you're offended but....I think we have a connection too.”

“You do?” you half squeak.

“I like you.”

“You like me? And there's not another...another...”

“Person I'm dating? No, it's just me. Cheffing doesn't make for maintaining great relationships with the hours and all. Will you sit with me?”

You couldn't believe he was interested in you. Stuff like this didn't happen to you, you never got the attention of men like this.

“I will,” you sit with a shy smile. “Although I will have some of the wine.”

“By all means,” he pours you a glass before leaning back.

You note he isn't even having his shake right now.

“So why me?” you ask after digging into the croquetas.

“I just think you're sweet and beautiful and I love when you laugh. Your enthusiasm and drive is just infectious as well.”

The more you talked, the more you wondered if things were going to take a different turn, if you would end up staying here the night. Steve's eyes kept flicking along your body and the more wine you drank, the more you played up to it.

When the last dish was nibbled at, he stands up, moving to your chair where he towers over you before bending down, giving you ample time to run and then his lips are on yours. His kisses are soft, chivalrous even but there's an edge of playfulness too.

“Stand up for me,” he holds his hands out.

You must be way drunker than you thought because the second you got up, you almost fell over. You can't remember drinking that much though....surely you didn't. You wouldn't have wanted to make an idiot of yourself.

“Feeling okay?” Steve asks, steadying you.

“I'm so sorry, I'm not normally this off balance.”

“I'm sure you're not normally but you might wanna look who's serving you a drink sometimes.”

You look up in surprise. Did he mean...had he _drugged_ you? What was the point? You were going to sleep with him if he offered anyway. What the fuck had he done to you?

“This way,” he drags you, your feet scuffing against the floor before flipping a switch and a bar descends from the ceiling with two leather looking loops either side.

You're too disorientated to know what's going on before he's locking your wrists into the loops and winching the bar back up so you're almost ram rod straight.

“What's happening, Steve?” you're scared. “Why?”

“Because the second I tasted you I knew I had to keep you. Such a rare blood type that pairs beautifully with fine cuisine.”

He still wasn't making sense. It's not until he walked in front of you, grabbed your chin and his canines extended down that it finally clicked. The weird dark red protein shake, the exclusively night time lessons, the marks on your arms....

“They weren't insect bites,” you whisper. “If you're a vampire, how could you get in my house?”

“You invited me, remember?” he smirks. “To use your kitchen? You really should've been careful, sweetheart.”

“Steve, don't do this.”

“Do what? I've not done anything yet. I'm waiting for the drug to get out of your system before feeding you some more.”

“Why are you-”

“-Feeding you? I can taste meals from the blood. I'm so tired of junk food, I need class, I need refinement....I need you, my sweet naïve girl.”

“So it was all a trick to get a quick snack?”

He frowns a little, hands on his hips, “You think you're just a snack? Oh no, doll. You're my all you can eat world buffet. You'll be here a _long_ long time. For what it's worth though, I want you in different ways too. Don't deny you don't want the same. I could hear every heartbeat, smell when you were aroused....the things you got up to in your bedroom after seeing me. I'm flattered.”

“Steve, just let me out of these,” you jingle the suspension bar. “I won't run, I promise.”

“No, you won't,” he agrees and leaves the room.

You stand there for an age, your feet hurting more and more as you stand, your shoulders and wrists burning from the position. How the hell could this have gone so wrong? All you wanted was cookery lessons.

He finally returns and starts grabbing plates to feed you.

“I'd suggest you open up and eat. You really don't want to know how strong I am,” he warns and you meekly take the spoon in your mouth, chewing whilst shaking violently. “That's it. Such a nice girl, huh?”

When you've apparently eaten enough, he walks behind you and your fear increases now you can't see him. With a loud rip, he tears away the sweater you had on until it hung from your shoulders uselessly. Your jeans were shredded into peeling strips of denim and you shrieked.

“Scream as much as you like,” he chuckles. “Soundproof.”

He walks to the front, admiring the view before wrenching the last of your clothing apart and you're completely bare to him now, trying not to cry.

“Beautiful,” he muses, letting his cold touch lathe down your body until it stops at the juncture of your thighs. “Did you know there's a large artery just right here?”

He grips the inside of your thigh hard until you gasp which seems to amuse him. When he drops to his knees, you try to move away but his grasp is rock solid and you swing uselessly.

“It doesn't hurt...much,” the fangs extend again. “You might even enjoy it.”

A sharp piercing pain made you kick wildly at him but he held your thigh tightly, suckling where you could feel tiny rivulets of blood escaping his mouth and tracking down your leg. It was little more than a dull ache now but the noises Steve was making.....

He groaned loudly, licking at the tiny puncture marks before looking up at you, “Delightful....I wonder if this will be as well.”

He lunges forward, tongue roughly dragging up your folds as you cry out with shock. You find yourself grabbing onto the bar, trying to get away from him but he's persistent and he's frankly fucking amazing with his mouth that you start to forget about the pain, you start to forget about what he is. You wanted this when you first walked in here and maybe for a few minutes, things could just go back to something normal.

He opens you up with his fingers, slipping some into you in a humiliatingly easy fashion. You didn't want to be enjoying this as much as you were.

When your orgasm crept up on you, you thrashed wildly as you came, half screaming as Steve held you there, tongue gently licking with barely any pressure to sustain the sensation.

“Delightful also,” he laughs. “Even naked and writhing you're still sweet.”

He stands up, taking his clothing off and now your senses come back. You back away as far as you can.

“Uh uh uh,” he waves a finger. “I'm not done with you yet.”

He gets behind you, arm circled around your waist to hold you in place and you can feel his cock pressing against your ass. When he slides into you, he's plainly amused by how much noise you make. He's stretching you, buried to the hilt in you.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he licks up the shell of your ear. “You wanted me to fuck you? Debase you? Claim you?”

“No!” you protest.

“Liar,” Steve hisses as he thrusts hard making your head fall back. “I don't like lying.”

His stamina was incredible, maintaining such an animalistic pace as he ruined you. All you could vocalise were moans, grunts and screams as he fucked you hard. Your knuckles were turning white across the bar.

When his hand snaked around you to play with your already sensitive clit, you would've collapsed if you weren't tied upright. His speed was no less brutal, forcing you towards an orgasm at a breakneck rate.

“Move your head to the side,” he snarls and you obey, just desperate to cum, desperate to do anything to cum.

When you do, he bites down into the groove of your neck and the pain mixes with the pleasure, your mouth open in soundless cries, only the laboured panting audible.

“You have _no_ idea how good you taste,” his voice is rasped, delirious as he drives home, cumming in a long and drawn out, lazy way. “Sweetheart, you are going _nowhere_.”

“Please let me go,” you half whisper, his cock still buried in you.

“You have to play your part.”

“My part?”

“I told you, doll. A man's gotta eat. I'll cook you the most unbelievable food and you'll be under my protection but this is the price and you have to pay it. Maybe someday you can earn my trust and cook your own food but we have a _long_ way to go before that.”

“Are you just going to leave me in this?” you look at the suspension bar.

“For now,” you can feel the smile against your neck and his cock hardening again in you. “I mean, there's still dessert. Can't miss that now, can we?”


End file.
